


First Blood

by theLiterator



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: First Time, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-18
Updated: 2014-09-18
Packaged: 2018-02-17 21:18:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2323505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theLiterator/pseuds/theLiterator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His first kill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Blood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Scathach](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scathach/gifts).



> Written for the prompt: DCU (Batman), Damian Wayne, his first kill

He recognizes the steel, and his mother sees that recognition, because her eyes grow bright and her smile grows sharp.

He recognizes the woman, too.

She calls him pet-names and brushes his hair from his forehead when she tucks him in at night. She kisses his wounds to make them better and she taught him a charm to say against nightmares.

None of the other women are like that. He wonders if they had been, would they be staring at him with wide, dull eyes while his mother hands him steel with a sharp smile.

“The first thing you must learn, my son,” his mother says, “is a lesson of blood.”

The steel is heavy in his hands, and the woman’s eyes are heavy against his skin, like a kiss against a bruise.

“This is a gift I am giving you, my son,” his mother says. “The only way to learn how much pressure it takes to part human flesh is to part it yourself.”

Damian turns to face his mother like a plant seeking out the son.

The steel is heavy in his hands.

“When you are ready, you will kill in combat,” his mother says. “But first you must learn to kill. And in order to kill, you must _cut_.”

He knows her purpose; has known it all along, but there is now an edge to her voice, and he would no sooner anger her than he would the sun, so he takes that heavy steel, and he cuts.

It is not deep enough, and the woman screams, and he flinches from the noise.

His mother makes a tiny noise of disapproval, and it echoes louder than the woman’s agony, and so he cuts again, deep enough this time, to draw blood.

A third time.

The woman can no longer scream.

His face is wet, his hands are wet with her blood, and the steel is heavy in his hands. He drops it, and it echoes in the room. He wipes his hands across his face.

“You disappoint me, my son,” his mother says. “Clean this up,” his mother says. She turns away, so he can turn away.

_This is a sword,_ a tutor will tell him later. _Its purpose is to cut._


End file.
